


paths that will always cross

by alaudarum



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Azure Moon - Freeform, Fire Emblem: Three Houses Blue Lions Route, Gen, Post-Canon, Zine: Rest Day (Fire Emblem), felix's not-diplomatic-mission-to-the-alliance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-04
Updated: 2020-06-04
Packaged: 2021-03-03 22:53:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,898
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24543373
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alaudarum/pseuds/alaudarum
Summary: “I—” he starts, stops, amends and rearranges his thoughts to avoid blaming the messengers in front of him. “...I’m... exiled? For a whole month!?”“Now, hang on a second,” Sylvain interjects, jumping in to clear up any misunderstandings before they get completely blown out of proportion. “You’re not — you’re not being exiled, you’re being, hm. I think the actual phrase Dimitri wrote down was ‘dismissed temporarily without prejudice?’”“Exiled.”“But only for a month!” chimes Ingrid, clapping her hands together, as though trying to make it sound like they were sending him on vacation.--The sparse briefing on his diplomatic mission to the Leicester Alliance is suspicious. Felix goes anyways. Written for Rest Day, a FE3H zine for COVID-19 relief.
Relationships: Felix Hugo Fraldarius & Leonie Pinelli
Comments: 6
Kudos: 22





	paths that will always cross

**Author's Note:**

> Stumbled into Rest Day Zine on my face and, for a little while, working with the other people in the zine was the only piece of positivity for me. I even lucksacked some friends out of it. Hope this fic is fun for all of you too. Beta'd by [Nenalata](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nenalata/pseuds/Nenalata) who really pushed me to make the most out of my baby drafts and then decided on top of that to stick around afterwards as well.

Felix isn’t sure how things got to this point, but three things are certain: First, Ingrid and Sylvain stand before him, the three of them congregating in the Fraldarius manor’s atrium. Second, both of them have extremely stern expressions on their faces, but Ingrid’s is tempered with mild concern.

Third, the envelope Sylvain extends to him is stamped with Dimitri’s official seal. Dimitri _never_ sends casual correspondence stamped with the Blaiddyds’ crest. Whatever this envelope contains, it can only mean trouble. He narrows his eyes at his two oldest friends, but all the squinting only intensifies the pounding in his head, and it takes him mustering all his willpower to keep himself steady on his feet.

Felix eyes the piece of stationery suspiciously. “...What's this all about?” he asks, looking akin to a cat that’s been offered cheap, grain-textured food after being raised on a diet of gourmet sardines.

Sylvain heaves a sigh, temporarily lowering his arm. “Felix,” he begins, pausing to carefully select his next set of words. “Do you — have you — no, scratch that. You haven’t looked at yourself in the mirror recently, have you?”

Felix curls into himself unconsciously, folding his arms across his chest. “If you came here to waste my time with banal questions, _leave_. I have reports to review. The scholars expect a harrowing winter, so we need to stock up on food early. In fact—” He throws Ingrid a glower, but it’s not nearly as intimidating as he’d intended it to be, not when he can’t pull together the energy to look irritated. “Shouldn’t _Galatea_ be taking these early precautions as well? Do you really have time, Ingrid, to come all the way out here, instead of making sure your people don’t starve?”

But it’s been six months since the war ended, and Ingrid, unlike Felix, has learned to differentiate comments worth responding to and bait tossed carelessly out for the sake of deflecting comments with angry reactions. So instead of clenching her hands into fists, she sighs just like Sylvain, which only stokes Felix’s anger, and then she has the _gall_ to look at him with pitying eyes.

“Felix,” Ingrid begins, lowering her voice as though she were speaking to a frightened child. He hates it when Ingrid does this, and he _knows_ she’s trying to handle him gently because she’s unsure how he’ll react to her next words. “Felix, haven’t you already delegated a task force to take care of and focus strictly on preparing Fraldarius’ supply stores?”

“I have,” Felix retorts, cutting quickly into the conversation. “I don’t see how that’s relevant. I like to examine the records with my own eyes as well, just in case.”

But Ingrid doesn’t relent: “Yes, well, that’s the _point_ of delegating the job to a task force. It frees up time for you to do something else, like — Felix, listen to me. How many hours of sleep did you get last night?”

Felix eyes his two friends suspiciously. “...Enough,” he replies, trying to sneak around this very uncomfortable conversation.

That won’t do, though, and Sylvain is quick to block off any escape routes of deflecting the conversation. “Well, how about you give us a better idea of how much rest you got last night?” Sylvain insists. “C’mon, put a number to it. How many hours? Just give us an estimate.”

Trying to pin specific hours on how much sleep he got the night before is only making Felix’s headache worse. He needs more caffeine, not a lecture. But Felix knows Sylvain, and Felix also knows Ingrid: Neither of them are going to let him take his leave, even if they’re in _his_ abode where _he_ has the authority to throw them out into the cold.

They’re Sylvain and Ingrid though, so they know he won’t.

Felix’s eyes drop to the floor, away from the part-accusatory part-concerned expressions of his oldest friends. “...I don’t know. Two? Three?”

It’s Ingrid’s turn to interrogate him now: “And how about the night before?”

“I don’t know. I don’t keep track of how long I sleep! No one does that. I figure it was the same amount of hours.”

He hates this, the way they’re dragging all this information out of him. His head is pounding; Felix raises a hand to squeeze the bridge of his nose with his index finger and thumb, willing it all away. It doesn’t go away, though, and he begins to suspect it will remain for as long as Ingrid and Sylvain insist on pestering him.

Ingrid reaches out for the envelope clutched in Sylvain’s hand, offering it to Felix. “If it’s a mild case of insomnia, there are different teas to help you fall asleep. But it’s not just that. Felix, if you keep this up, you’ll work yourself into an early grave.”

“You’re both overreacting,” he snaps, snatching the envelope out of Ingrid’s hand. He needs this conversation to end so he can take a half-hour nap and then go check on the other half of today’s bookkeeping. “If I read Dimitri’s stupid letter, will the two of you finally get the hell out of my home?”

Sylvain nods, but _also_ offers Felix a noncommittal shrug. “Yeah, well, all we really wanted to do today was deliver Dimitri’s letter. Anyways, take a look at it and then get some rest. You look like you’re about to keel over.”

With that deal sealed, Felix eyes Sylvain and Ingrid warily, as though to warn the two of them to hold up on their ends of the promise. Sylvain’s expression is, as ever, unreadable; Ingrid, on the other hand, has taken on a rather stern look. It’s a little disconcerting, making Felix’s clumsy fingers work faster to peel open the envelope’s flap. Once the blue wax is loose, he frees the single sheet of paper from the envelope, quickly sweeping his gaze over the black ink scrawled upon its surface.

His hands tremble, but Felix has lost track of whether it’s because he’s run out of energy to keep himself upright or if his body is simply unable to contain the boiling anger in his veins, set off by Dimitri’s godsforsaken letter.

“I—” he starts, stops, amends and rearranges his thoughts to avoid blaming the messengers in front of him. “...I’m… exiled? For a whole month!?”

“Now, hang on a second,” Sylvain interjects, jumping in to clear up any misunderstandings before they get completely blown out of proportion. “You’re not — you’re not being _exiled_ , you’re being, hm. I think the actual phrase Dimitri wrote down was ‘dismissed temporarily without prejudice?’”

“Exiled.”

“But only for a month!” chimes Ingrid, clapping her hands together, as though trying to make it sound like they were sending him on _vacation_.

“And _you_ two had a hand in it as well, didn’t you?” Felix exhales through his nose, clutching the letter even tighter in his hand. “Don’t lie to me. It says right here that Fraldarius territory will temporarily be under the shared jurisdiction of Gautier and Galatea. _You_ two did this to me. I cannot _believe_ you went and just made a decision like this for me—”

Felix doesn’t get to finish his rant, not with Sylvain throwing his arms out to pull both him and Ingrid into a giant bear hug. Ingrid shifts her arms so she can wrap them around Felix and Sylvain. Felix squirms like a trapped housecat, before finally relenting and giving in to this sudden, unannounced cuddle session. He doesn’t have the strength to slip out of their _combined_ holds.

“Listen, you stubborn fool,” Sylvain begins, throwing one of Felix’s many nicknames for him right back in Felix’s face. “I don’t know _what_ got into you when we all came back to Faerghus after the war and took up our respective titles, but you can’t keep this up. You’re important to me, Ingrid and Dimitri, so we’re not going to just sit by and watch you go insane, OK?”

And at Felix’s side, Ingrid nods her agreement. “Felix, it’s only a month. And besides, didn’t you read the rest of the letter? It’s — it’s not _really_ a vacation if that’s what you’re uncomfortable with.” When Felix shoots her a baffled expression, Ingrid has the gall to _laugh_. “I figured you didn’t finish reading all the way, or at least, I figured you’d stop reading after seeing Dimitri was officially dismissing you from your duties for a bit.”

Sylvain loosens his hold on Ingrid a bit so she can swipe Felix’s letter. His arm clutching Felix, on the other hand, remained all but an iron vice.

“Look,” Ingrid starts as she lifts the letter to eye-level for Felix. “You’re being reassigned to the Leicester Alliance. Now that the war’s over, Dimitri wants someone to go out there and see how the region’s faring. So don’t worry, you’ll still have work to do out there, and you’ll be in good hands.”

“I — what? Hands? Who?”

Sylvain gives his friends one last squeeze before finally letting them go. “Don’t worry. You’ll find out soon enough. Dimitri wants you to head out in three days for Gloucester territory, where you’ll meet your guide.”

Gloucester territory? Did he hear that correctly? Felix scowls, and now that he’s free of Sylvain and Ingrid’s arms he crosses his own over his chest. “I’m — I’m _not_ spending a month with Lorenz—”

“No! No, it’s not Lorenz,” Ingrid adds hastily. “Don’t worry, it’s _definitely_ not Lorenz. In any event, don’t worry too much about the details, all right, Felix? Just focus on taking care of yourself and leave running Fraldarius to us.”

Felix doesn’t like the idea of that. He loathes it with every fiber of his being, but if he’s going to be cornered like this—

It’s so unfair of them to catch him off guard like this, when all he wants to do is drag his half-conscious self back into bed. So he relents, massaging his temples because his migraine is back. “All right, _fine_ ,” Felix grumbles, trying his hardest to ignore the relieved smiles spreading across Sylvain and Ingrid’s faces. “Shut up. It’s not like I have a _choice_ here.”

Ingrid’s grin grows wider. “No one said anything,” she teases, taking a step forward to wrap her arms around Felix again. “Don’t worry too much about us here. We’ll take good care of things in Fraldarius. Just think of it as strengthening diplomacy and the ties among the Gautier, Fraldarius and Galatea territories.”

“Yeah, fine, I get it,” Felix huffs, but buries his face in Ingrid’s shoulder anyway to stop himself from digging into his two friends with words he’d soon regret.

#

It takes a week for Felix and his small battalion, guided by a tight-lipped Leicester Alliance emissary, to trek out to Gloucester territory. Lorenz Hellman Gloucester’s territory, however, was not the group’s true destination. Instead, they head for a small village on the outskirts of Gloucester.

It’s bad enough that Dimitri, Sylvain and Ingrid had conspired to join forces for the purpose of sending him to Leicester territory, all under the guise of it being a “political tour.” Nonsense. Felix knows a lie when he smells one and if this was _truly_ intended to be a diplomatic visit in a show of Faerghus-Leicester solidarity, Dimitri would have offered him far more details than a location destination and the vague instructions of, “All I ask is that you observe how the people of the Leicester Alliance are faring.”

On the other hand, it’s been awhile since Felix has been afforded the opportunity to swing a blade. Fortunately, Dimitri’s ascension to the Faerghus throne was peaceful and unassuming, and the past few months have been bloodless. In fact, thanks to the new king’s arduous undertaking of instituting aggressive social welfare programs, the number of bandit raids took a dramatic nosedive ( _un_ fortunately, this means Felix has been long deprived of a good fight).

Also, the risk of coup d’etats is low considering the majority of the most powerful noble houses are, happily, led by those Dimitri would confidently declare his lifelong friends.

Perhaps the Leicester Alliance is in further turmoil then. After all, Felix cannot imagine that Claude’s decision to cede authority to Dimitri was well-received by all the fiercely-independent nobles in that area.

In short, at least Ingrid and Sylvain had been kind enough to negotiate a temporary post in Leonie’s mercenary troupe. That, at least, teases the potential promise of being able to throw himself back into a _proper_ fight. It’s a strange thought, to complain and gripe that Faerghus was _too_ peaceful for his tastes, a thought that had only left Felix’s lips once because it just wasn’t worth another long lecture from Ingrid.

In time, Felix and his small battalion finally arrive at the edge of Sauin Village. As expected, Leonie is there alone, to greet all of them. Her punctuality is as expected; Leonie’s always been a stickler for time-keeping and it’s something Felix has always appreciated about her.

She’s seated on what must have once been a tree of impressive age, using a knife to whittle away a piece of wood in her hands. Felix doesn’t consider himself to be particularly _impressive_ , but he feels a certain sense of kinship with the tree: sliced down without any opportunities to object to a decision made by others.

Hearing Felix’s small party approaching, Leonie glances up from her work and throws both a grin and a thumbs-up in their direction. “Took all of you long enough!” she exclaims, jumping up from her seat. There isn’t much that’s changed about Leonie, all vibrant orange hair with her unwavering pep. Her eyes suddenly widen though, as if she’d just remembered something, before she bends in a bow not to Felix, but to the small battalion that’s congregated at his sides. “Oh! Thank you for keeping Felix — er — _Duke Fraldarius_ safe on your journey,” she says to them, and once she’s straightened, adds, “And with that, you are all dismissed.”

The battalion members all nod silently back to Leonie and without sparing any additional remarks to Felix, turn on their heels to make their departure. As silently as they’d arrived at Sauin Village, the battalion also leaves without a single word. The entire event makes Felix arch a brow as he faces the Leicester Alliance mercenary.

“Those were Faerghus forces,” he notes. Leonie merely blinks back, as though the most obvious statement in the entirety of Fódlan had just left Felix’s lips.

“They were, yes,” she replies with a quizzical expression. But when the underlying question and purpose of Felix’s inquiry occurs to her, she claps her hands with a smile. “Oh, _that_. Well, actually, Dimitri placed them under my authority. I know the Leicester Alliance technically falls under Dimitri’s rule, but that doesn’t mean every Leicester noble is happy to allow Faerghus troops to pass through. I had to let the others know to expect and let you come through. Even if it’s a small battalion, they get a little territorial! I mean, you’re a noble, so I figure you’d get it.”

With that out of the way, Leonie slides to Felix’s side, throwing an arm around his shoulders. “Anyways, nice to see you too, Felix. I can still call you that, right?”

It’s a bizarre question coming from Leonie, someone who Felix figured was never keen on respecting titles. On the other hand, Fódlan is at peace. In times of less turmoil, it is easy to slip back into the status quo.

The status quo is that Felix takes up his position as the head of House Fraldarius. The status quo is that the oldest son is fated to inherit his father’s title. But Felix is a _younger_ son thrown into the shoes of the oldest surviving issue, so he supposes he’s already failed at step one.

Screw the status quo.

“Just call me Felix,” he replies with a sigh. “Still feels strange hearing people call me ‘Duke Fraldarius.’”

Leonie’s eyes suddenly go soft, and Felix decides between Ingrid and Sylvain’s pitying looks from last week, and now Leonie’s somber expression, he’s had enough sympathy lobbed at him for the rest of his life. Knowing that he can’t survive anymore, Felix scowls, emphasizing how thoroughly displeased he is by whatever’s cycling through Leonie’s head. “Don’t even think about it,” he warns her.

Leonie, however, has never been particularly intimidated by Felix.

“It’s nothing,” she says. Before Felix can jump in to tell her that if it really is nothing there is no need to follow up on the comment, Leonie blows ahead with, “I was just thinking how strange it was to be in charge of a mercenary group called ‘Jeralt’s Mercenaries.’ Not exactly the same as you, but I thought… close enough, right?”

No, it’s not close enough, Felix thinks to himself, and it’s almost enough to make someone with a less stern sense of humor laugh, to compare the leader of a mercenary group with the lord of an entire domain. Instead, his attention springs to Leonie’s choice of using the past tense.

He glances at her from head to toe, re-examining her entire appearance. His conclusion, for the most part, is the same as before. She looks ever the same, but now that he’s _really_ taking in her appearance, there are two things missing from her person. For Felix, that’s cause for alarm.

He frowns at her, equal parts puzzled and troubled.

“Your shield and quiver are missing.”

“What? Oh, yeah, I guess they are.”

Felix arches a brow. “What? What do you mean ‘oh?’ What kind of mercenary are you, walking out of your door without your bread and butter?”

“Hah… Mercenary, right… Yeah, those were the days… It’s funny, isn’t it? I don’t wish for war at all, but finding work as a mercenary in times of peace sure is tough. In any event, it means I’ve had more spare time on my hands than usual, so I’ve been killing a bit of it by whittling this wooden flute.”

Oh. So that’s what that piece of wood Leonie was working on was all about.

“I see. Well, my condolences, I suppose.”

But then something clicks in Felix’s head, all the puzzle pieces that composed the past week slotting together in his mind. “Wait—” he begins. “I’m — I thought I was here to temporarily join your mercenary group.”

A sheepish expression creeps across Leonie’s face. “I _had_ a mercenary group,” she elaborates. “Or, at least, I had one up until… three days ago? You were scheduled to head over here, so there wasn’t enough time to send a messenger to explain what happened.” She punctuates her comments with a shrug before continuing with, “Besides, I don’t think it makes much of a difference. According to Ingrid and Sylvain, the point was just to get you away from work for a bit. Doesn’t matter what you do, so long as it’s productive, right?”

Felix clenches his hands. “OK,” he begins, desperately trying to control his tone to sound as even as possible. “OK, fine. So you didn’t _actually_ lie to them. If your mercenary group disbanded, then what the hell am I doing out here in this—” He cuts himself off, narrowly avoiding describing Sauin Village as “backwater,” “— this… _place_?”

Leonie steps closer, throwing one arm around her old classmate while using her free hand to reach into the satchel at her waist. She pulls out the piece of wood. The now-former mercenary holds the flute up in the air, trapping Felix tighter to her side. “You, Felix,” she begins with a triumphant grin, “are going to help me rebrand Jeralt’s Mercenaries! I’m retiring the name Blade Breaker, but you know how it goes. One opportunity disappears and a new one walks in. That new opportunity, Felix, happens to be you.”

Felix isn’t sure he likes where this conversation is going.

“And?” he demands, impatient for Leonie to make her point.

Leonie finally reveals her hand:

“And _I_ happen to recall you won the White Heron Cup during our Garreg Mach days.”

“That’s — no. No, that was a fluke. I don’t know what the judges were thinking.”

If there is one word that Felix would use to sum up Leonie, it’s “persistent,” which is the nicer version of “stubborn.”

“Hm, I don’t think it was a fluke. You were good enough to keep morale up throughout the entire war campaign! C’mon, something like this should be easy for you. You remember your old Sword Dance, right? Plus it’ll be easier this time around because you’ll have accompanying music.”

Felix scowls, wondering if this all seems like an elaborate joke to Leonie. “I came here on a _diplomatic_ mission to evaluate the recovery of the Leicester Alliance territories from the war. I didn’t come here to _dance_.”

None of Felix’s arguments deter Leonie. She shrugs them off like water sliding down a duck’s back. “Just give it a try,” she encourages him. “You’re here to see how the people of Leicester are doing, right? So start small. Start here. Listen to what the _people_ have to say, and show them you don’t just care about what the bigwig nobles have to say. Show them you care about raising their spirits and that you’re willing to engage with them too!”

The stern and displeased look on Felix’s face remains throughout Leonie’s entire speech.

“Well, like I said, just give it a try,” Leonie insists. “And either way, you’re stuck here with me for a month. Around these parts, we say if you don’t work, you don’t eat.”

A new but perfectly reasonable excuse pops into Felix’s head.

“But I don’t have a costume,” he blurts out, and only when his rebuttal leaves his lips does he realize how ridiculous it sounds.

“I don’t understand what you’re so worried about,” Leonie remarks, arm still wrapped tightly around Felix. “I made one ahead of time for you. Actually, I can’t believe you forgot about my sewing technique even after all those times I had to fix tears in your coat!” She squeezes Felix a little tighter, making him squirm in an attempt to free himself from her grasp. It proves to be in vain though, as it quickly becomes evident that Leonie spent the past few months performing tasks that improved her physique, whereas most of Felix’s work involved being stationary at a desk.

Unfortunately, Leonie notices. “Also, is it just me or have you gone a little soft? Come on, Felix, this is perfect! It’ll help you get back into shape too! Everyone wins!”

“All right, all right! Fine! Just — let _go_ of me!”

Satisfied, she does exactly that. Felix sighs while gathering his mental bearings because his trip to Leicester thus far has not gone according to plan at all. And because he absolutely _must_ get the final word in, he crosses his arms over his chest and sticks his chin out stubbornly.

“I’ll do it,” he says, treating Leonie’s proposal as a challenge and an obstacle to overcome. “I’ll do it, but on one condition: leave me some time to refresh my memory on the Sword Dance arts. I’ll go through each set to warm myself up, and if you haven’t finished whittling your flute by the time I’m done, find a different way for me to ‘connect’ and ‘get to know’ the people in your village.”

Leonie stows her wooden handiwork away and crosses her own arms over her chest to mimic Felix. There’s a confident smile on her face, but Felix decides she could easily be bluffing. “OK. It’s a deal,” she says, uncrossing her arms to extend a hand to Felix.

Felix uncrosses his own arms to give her a firm handshake.

With that, the deal is sealed.

#

Unfortunately, Felix’s hubris will ever be his downfall. He’s on his final steps of a dance that incorporated lightning magic Annette taught him when Leonie jumps out before him. She thrusts the finished flute in front of him with a triumphant expression; Felix, deep in concentration, nearly slices her in half.

“Are you insane!?” he yells, lowering the tip of his blade, willing the electricity coursing down his arm to disappear. “Are you _trying_ to get me chased out of this village?”

Leonie shrugs without a care. “Well, I just figured your control of a sword is good enough to stop you from cutting me in half.”

Felix can’t argue with that.

“In any event, I saw you were still in the middle of a routine and _I_ happen to be finished with my work. A deal’s a deal, Felix.” To prove her point, Leonie raises the carved instrument to her lips. It releases an unusually warm sound for its size. Her fingertips flutter over its neck as she plays a major arpeggio. As far as Felix can tell, it’s craftsmanship free of any defects.

Felix sighs, sheathing his sword. “All right, all right,” he mutters, conceding defeat. “Fine. Where’s this… costume?”

“You _really_ need to stop underestimating me, Felix.”

“Just — there’s no way you were able to _guess_ my measurements.”

Now it’s Leonie’s turn to sigh and shake her head. “Honestly, Felix. Underestimating me, again. Well, only one way to find out, right?”

She gestures for him to follow, leading him to a humble cottage constructed of wood. Leonie ushers Felix inside, pushing him right past the doorway and straight into a guest room where she’d set Felix’s costume out ahead of time. It rests folded in a neat square pile on his assigned bed.

Perhaps the costume won’t fit him well, Felix thinks to himself. After all, it’s been a few months since the last time they’d seen each other. Maybe Leonie needs an extra day or two to properly tailor the costume, delaying the results of their bets.

But Leonie’s prepared costume fits Felix perfectly.

It's a testament to Leonie’s good memory that she’s managed to replicate his old dancer outfit. The colors and type of fabrics are different, a mix of blues and blacks, but the overall set of loose-flowing cloth and bangles are similar to what he’d worn to rouse positive morale during the war. Felix sighs as he slips the last piece of the outfit on, a wristlet with sheer navy attached to it, then exits the guest room of Leonie’s humble cottage.

“OK, fine. You win,” he mutters giving credit where it’s due. He looks down to examine the rest of the outfit, then adds, “Where the hell did you find this fabric anyways?”

Leonie shrugs. “I have my ways. Found some here and there. I asked around if anyone had any spare cloth they weren’t using and made do. You know how I operate.”

Felix raises a brow. “Oh, so like that disgusting bag that Linhardt kept nagging you to toss out while offering to buy you a new one?”

“Hey! All right, first off, that was a massive waste of a perfectly fine bag and don’t compare your costume to it! I worked hard on this! Ugh, just — forget about it, come over here and sit down. Let me fix your hair.”

Felix rolls his eyes but obeys, taking a seat on the wooden stool by Leonie. She tugs at his hair tie, letting his tresses loose before running a comb through it. Then, she gathers it back up again in her hands. Comb clutched in her mouth, she moves his dark hair to the side, tying it over his shoulder, then grabs a mirror.

He gazes at his reflection, turning his face left and right. “...Now I just look like you. And where’d you get this mirror? Doesn’t look anything like what you’d usually get for yourself.”

“Why? You have a problem with my hair? And — what’s that supposed to mean? Is there some rule that I’m not allowed to own cute things?!”

Felix glances up and over his shoulder to throw Leonie a skeptical look.

“...Ugh, fine, it was a gift from Hilda.”

Victorious, he grins and stands from his seat, stretching his arms out and grabbing the Wo Dao he’d brought with him before returning to the stool. It would have to do since his go-to steel swords were a little heavy for his Sword Dance combat arts.

“Knowing you, I don’t get any time to practice, do I?” Felix asks.

Leonie raises a hand to tap an index finger to her chin. “Well… Technically no, but today’s just the kids. But don’t worry about it. They’re easy to please, so it’s essentially practice. Plus, I _might_ have asked them to be nice to you about it.”

“Great. That’s just great. Kicked out of Fraldarius, dragged out to Sauin Village, and forced to dance to entertain a bunch of children.”

“Oh come on, Felix, just give it a shot and get to know them!”

Felix shakes his head with a sigh. “I didn’t say I _wasn’t_ going to do it.” He folds his hands in his lap, finally finding the moment to voice a question that’s been on his mind since he first saw Leonie whittling away on the tree stump. He glances back at Leonie. “Where did you learn how to carve flutes anyways? I didn’t know you played music.”

Even though Leonie smiles, her eyes turn somber. It’s the first time Felix has seen her look so solemn since arriving in Sauin Village. “My parents were troubadours,” she explains with a distant look in her eyes. “I learned to play and carve a flute when I was a kid, so it’s — I guess you could say it’s the one thing I have left from them.”

Now it’s Felix’s turn to fall silent. Despite his sharp words, he never intended to stir up painful memories. He breaks the quiet after struggling to search for comforting words, something that leaves him completely out of his element. “It’s good that you have something to remember them by,” he notes, mind wandering to his late mother’s portraits and his father’s old mantle draped over the chair at his study’s desk.

Leonie doesn’t say anything. Instead, she raises a brow and Felix frowns in return. “What?” he asks with a quizzical expression.

“Were you trying to cheer me up? That’s terrifying. Are you feeling OK?”

“Remind me to _never_ say anything nice to you ever again.” And in a desperate attempt to change the conversation topic, Felix adds, “Where are these kids anyways?”

Leonie wanders to the door, grabbing her wooden flute and a hand bell resting near the entrance. She lifts the hand bell up with a wink. “We call them with this,” she replies. “I wasn’t kidding when I said this is a test run for our future debut. After all, we need a way to announce ourselves when we go from village to village.”

“Impressive,” Felix muses, even though he’s actually quite nonplussed. “You’ve really thought all this out.”

With that, Leonie throws the door wide open, steps into the sunlight and begins ringing the hand bell. Its sound peals clearly through the air, its ringing making the curious heads of Sauin Village’s children turn in Leonie’s direction. They shout excitedly, and as Leonie and Felix make their way towards the center of the village, Felix hears several cries of, “It’s Leonie and her friend!” along with grumbles and grouses of, “Do we _have_ to go?”

Eventually, all the children finish congregating, gathering in an arc in front of Leonie and Felix. All their curious, wide gazes are fixed on Felix. It’s initially unnerving, but Felix quickly recalls that this _is_ Leonie’s home village and she’s likely familiar with each and every member in their audience. He, on the other hand, is a stranger from Faerghus who, out of nowhere, turned up on their doorstep.

It’s fine. They’re just kids. All he needs to do is fumble through his old dance routine and Leonie can take care of the rest. And take care she does, holding her arms out to welcome everyone to their completely cold performance.

“Thank you all for being here!” she announces in a bombastic voice before bringing her hands together in a loud clap. “I appreciate you all gathering so quickly! Welcome to the very first ever performance of Jeralt’s Dancers!”

From Leonie’s side, Felix whispers, “If I’m stuck doing this for a whole month with you, you need a better act name.”

Leonie shoots him a quick glare before powering on with her welcome speech, as though she’d not heard a single word from him. “I’m going to need everyone’s help with this. Can you clap in time with me?” She starts clapping, setting a sprightly beat. Their audience joins in, shyly clapping in time with her.

“I’ll start with something simple and easy,” she says, as though she’d finally remembered Felix was here too. “Think of it like a warmup, a nice, easy 3/4.” And before Felix can make any objections, she lifts her wooden flute to her lips, trilling out a cheerful tune in a major key.

Everyone’s playing their parts in this act. The least Felix can do is step up to his own role. So he unsheathes his blade and begins with a bold statement by tossing it into the air above him. It somersaults above his head, and based on the sudden incorrect notes wheezing from the flute, even Leonie’s caught off guard by Felix’s actions. It puts a smirk on his face as he catches it flawlessly in one hand. The utter silence from the audience breaks with the children’s gasps and enthusiastic applause, practically drowning out Leonie’s music. But even above the clamor, Felix can hear how Leonie’s tune cuts through.

He waits for a downbeat before thrusting the blade out, twirling his entire body and summoning just enough lightning magic coursing down his arm to make the sword crackle with dancing sparks. They fly like fireworks as the children look on, completely absorbed in Felix’s performance. He’s rusty: He nearly drops his sword _twice_ , but thanks to his schooled features, no one seems to notice. It seems the old adage of performance tricks holds true even now: Smile, and no one will notice any of your mistakes.

Leonie’s right. It’s best to practice in front of the children, to get warmed up before pursuing the attention of larger and more ambitious audiences.

Besides, this show is free, which takes a lot of pressure off his shoulders. And because it’s free, it means Leonie can take a few liberties with their two-man act. She lowers the flute from her lips; the sudden absence of music has Felix glancing in her direction. Leonie waves at the gathered children with both her hands. “Hey, no need to be shy,” she encourages all of them. “Don’t you want to join us up here? Come on, Winfred and Eva, I _know_ the two of you like to dance! You can’t hide it from me!”

The two children Leonie addressed exchange nervous glances. She doesn’t give them time to hesitate. Leonie bounces forward, grasping each of the children’s hands, ushering them to the front with her. As they draw near, Felix slides his Wo Dao back into its sheath. Better safe than sorry.

His instincts prove correct because Leonie immediately hands the two children off, sliding each of their hands into Felix’s. She winks cheekily.

“Sorry! Can’t hold their hands, dance _and_ play music at the same time!” she laughs, lifting the flute back to her lips. Gone is the one-two-three rhythm from earlier, replaced by a sprightly 4/4. The metric bends keep Felix on his toes though, literally, and not to mention there _are_ small children clinging to both his hands.

It’s too late now. Leonie’s already gone and incorporated audience participation without his permission and he _probably_ shouldn’t leave a first impression on the villagers that he is the sort of person who makes children cry. So Felix readjusts his grip on both the children’s hands, holding onto them confidently.

“Just follow my lead,” he reassures the two as they gaze up at him, wide-eyed. “And hold onto each other’s hands — yes, like that.” He coaxes the two into staying light on their feet by skipping, leading them in a circle dance. Twice, the children stumble, but they catch themselves quickly with a laugh. They glance over their shoulders, and their unabashed smiles are the exact sort of encouragement the rest of the audience needs. The captive audience leaps to its feet, rushing at the dancing trio.

The two children Leonie roped into the dance earlier let go of one another’s hands, making room for everyone else to join in the circle. It expands, until there is no one left in the audience because they’ve all become performers.

Once Felix is confident the children have a grasp of Leonie’s beat, he lets go of the two hands grasping his to stand in the center of the expanded circle. He draws his sword again, spinning as the navy fabric attached to his bangle twirls with him. Felix points the blade at the sky, releasing just enough lightning magic to send a shower of sparks dancing a safe distance above the children. They cheer in unison, but now that their hands are all occupied, settle for raising their arms in the air.

Eventually Leonie’s music slows. Felix takes that as his cue to wrap up, finishing off with one last flick of the wrist to send a bolt of white lightning into the sky. It cuts through the air like an extension of his blade before bursting into a final firework of sparks.

Fortunately, Sauin Village is not a place known for its pegasus or wyvern riders.

Again, the children gasp in wonder before roaring into enthusiastic applause all around him. Leonie bows and Felix slides his sword back into its sheath before mimicking her. Their excited audience-performers do not permit for any additional words from them. Instead, the children rush forward all around Felix to spring questions on him.

“I want to learn how to do that lightning sword trick!”

“How did you catch your sword after throwing it in the air!?”

“Do that sparkle thing again!”

Felix crouches to the children’s height before addressing all of them. “If you train hard enough, maybe you’ll be able to do it too someday,” he says, imparting some words of wisdom. But then he realizes he should add a quick disclaimer, and hastily includes, “And don’t try anything you saw today at home. You need to train for years before you’ll be prepared for anything like it.”

What he does not tell them is that his Sword Dance art was honed by dodging enemy onslaughts during the war. He does not tell them that he was mentored by situations of life or death, nor does he explain that all the techniques he showcased today were, in truth, intended to kill.

Suddenly, Leonie claps, commanding all the children’s attention. “All right, that’s it for today!” she announces. “We might be back next week, so keep an eye out, OK? Thanks for helping us out, I really appreciated all of your help!” And just like that, the children scatter, some of them waving at Felix before wandering back to their homes.

An unexpected weight throws itself around Felix’s shoulders: Leonie’s arm, pulling Felix to her side. “Hey, that was pretty good,” she notes with a pleased expression. “You’ve really got a talent for improv. It’ll serve us well on the road!”

Felix shrugs nonchalantly. “It started coming back to me,” he replies, feigning apathy. “In any event, I’m stuck with you for the rest of the month. I don’t have a choice.”

“That’s right,” Leonie grins, but follows up with, “Thank you, though. Really. I was fully prepared for you to object and storm all the way back to Faerghus.”

“...I had the option to decline?”

“Well… maybe not anymore. Too late, we already shook on it.” Leonie stashes her wooden flute away in her belt, but she doesn’t let go of Felix just yet. “It wasn’t so bad though, right? You almost looked like you enjoyed seeing those kids smile.”

Felix casts his eyes to the floor. “What of it?”

“Sometimes it’s about the small things. Small victories, you know? Even just putting a smile on one person’s face can make all the difference for them.”

Felix thinks about his now-untouched book of records back in Fraldarius. He thinks about their stores of grain, the tax revenue he’s portioned off to redistribute to those in the most dire need, the aggressive rebuilding of schools to train a new generation that would wield a quill instead of a sword.

He thinks about the wonder in all those earlier children’s eyes, and how maybe that’s just as important too.

“Small victories,” he muses thoughtfully while ducking his head to hide a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “I suppose that’s true. ...You can let go of me now.”

“Never,” Leonie declares but releases her arm from around Felix’s shoulders. “You’re mine for the rest of the month.”

Felix isn’t sure how things got to this point, but there is something that is certain: Dimitri, Sylvain, and Ingrid are going to get an earful about how awful their collective vacation-planning skills are.

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed this if you reached the end! I'm on Twitter at [@dualcaster](https://twitter.com/dualcaster).


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